


The Mixed Tape

by palateens



Series: a song you keep whispering to my heart [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Genderqueer Nursey, M/M, Multi, Trans Nursey, this is not a song fic I swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-10-09 07:39:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10407156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palateens/pseuds/palateens
Summary: Farmer was the world seen and unseen. Nursey was oceans, rivers, and streams. And if Chowder’s the ever-loving sun, then Dex is the moon.OrThe one where soulmates get songs the other sings stuck in their head and they all find their way home eventually.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly don't know if this counts for Charmer Week but I had this fic idea figured out already it really motivated me to write it!
> 
> Things that are really important to me (in no particular order): Chowder/Nursey, Dex/Farmer, Farmer/Nursey, Chowder/Dex, just...polyfarms ok?

November 2013

*beep beep beep*

A hand slams down on the analogue alarm clock next to the full-sized bed. The hand retreats underneath the Shark’s comforter. The afternoon air is still and quiet. Something shifts around the bed, A tuft of black hair peeks out as a loud groan is admitted from somewhere within its covers. The hand slips out again, reaching for the iPhone resting on the nightstand. A bleary-eyed teen pokes his head out to check the time on the screen.

 _4:35 pm_ the phones reads.

“Shit,” the boy curses.

He jumps out of bed. He scrambles to slip on his ratty, black converse. Hastily, he snatches his keys and slings his backpack over his right shoulder. He rushes down the steps, ignoring his sister’s protests to slow down.

“I’m running late,” he shouts over his shoulder. He runs through the garage, picking up his skateboard. He’ll hardly have time for his pregame playlist. He sighs, fishing his earbuds from his backpack, selecting the proper list on his phone before opening the garage door.

“Close behind me!” Chris hollers at his sister. He presses play, slipping his phone in his back jeans pocket. With a foot on the board, he peddles a few steps—allowing the steep hills of San Francisco to carry him all the way to hockey practice. Fortunately, today was only a scrimmage.

“I hope they’re not busy night now,” he mumbles. Thinking of his soulmate—out there somewhere—as he hums along, “the faster we’re falling, we’re stopping and stalling…We’re running in circles again.”  

Meanwhile, approximately three hundred miles south, a girls’ volleyball team is in the midst of a warm up for a regional qualifying game. A tall brunette is in the middle of passing drills with her partner when a familiar song floats into her head.

“Change,” she shouts at the team manager, a petite blond girl in a faded polo and spandex.

“To what?” the manager shouts back.

“In Too Deep,” the girl shouts back.

The manager gives a thumbs up, switching the song quickly. It was commonly accepted on their team that soulmates could be distracting and it was easier to join along with them than it was to counteract their songs with other music.

“Just as things we're looking up,” she shouts. “You said it wasn't good enough.”

“But still we're trying one more time,” her team chimes in, causing Caitlin to laugh.

Somewhere in Massachusetts, a prep school hockey team is in the middle of the third period of a regular season game. One of the defensemen hears a song crescendo in his mind. He chuckles to himself.

“You always know how to make a game more interesting,” Derek chirps his soulmate.

He rushes a winger as he sings, “maybe we're just trying too hard. When really it's closer than it is too far.”

In a small town in Maine, a high school senior is amidst a typical party. He tries to ignore the music in his mind. Forcing himself to enjoy the tedious conversation he’s having with someone’s cousin who’s visiting from out of town. Unfortunately, the song has gotten so loud he can hardly concentrate.

“Will you excuse me?” He says, not bothering to hear the answer as he pushes away from the girl. He bolts out of the basement, finding a quiet corner near the backyard door.

“You really suck sometimes,” Will announces to whoever figured out how to make their music so blaringly loud. He doesn’t have much option other than to join in, “cause I'm in too deep, and I'm trying to keep. Up above in my head, instead of going under.”

The song ends almost as quickly as it starts. There’s a few punk songs that come up, and some Kesha that happens at one point. Will has learned not to think too deeply about his soulmate’s music taste. He’s realized that it’s too dynamic and varying to give a real sense of who they are. He feels like he knows them, though. He’d love to know how they get so incredibly fucking loud at the weirdest times, but there’s not much he can do about that…yet. Yet, he keeps reminding himself. _Soulmates meet each other eventually,_ his mom reminds him constantly.

Considering he’s grown up around the same small group of people, Will’s relived it’s not one of them. It means that he won’t be stuck here his entire life. He’s going places. He’s going to fall in love…someday.

The music stops after twenty minutes. There’s a comfortable silence in which the music of the party he’s at is quiet in comparison. It gives him time to decompress. Later, he’s sure he’ll here some Queen or Pat Benatar. He’s pretty sure his soulmate is an athlete, but the jury’s still out on that. It’s something they’ll bond over. He can feel it.

_/.\\_

A few weeks later, Caitlin’s having a dance party in her bedroom with her best friends Veronica and Meredith. They’ve been cycling through upbeat pop and country for about an hour.

“Hey,” Mer nudges Caitlin’s shoulder, “my soulmate’s singing Katy Perry.”

Caitlin nods in understanding, handing her the phone. “Go for it.”

Meredith scrolls through Caitlin’s music before settling on “Last Friday Night”.

“There’s a stranger in my bed,” the three sing along.

Caitlin knows they could’ve gone to another party or the bowling alley, or a million other things that people tend to do on Friday nights. But these were her girls. They’d been throwing sleepovers like this since they were little. There was something special about connecting with your best friends (and their soulmates) that they couldn’t get outside of sharing music together. The music ends up back in her own head for a brief time. It’s not as loud as it could be. She sometimes wonders what the volume means. Are they being louder? More emotional? Does she do the same thing to them?

After another ten minutes, she and Veronica collapse onto her bed. Meredith is in a fit of giggles as she explains the Teletubby’s theme song is stuck in her head now.

“My soulmate is a sick fuck,” Mer shakes her head; her auburn hair sways as she does.

“Maybe that’s their way of saying hi,” Veronica counters. “You ever tried to figure out where they live?”

“How?” Caitlin shouts incredulously.

Veronica rolls over to face her, “my sister told me one time she only sang songs about California for two months. A week after she stopped trying, she ran into her soulmate. Turns out he was from Iowa.”

Caitlin gawks slightly. “No offense but that’s a lot of faith to put into music.”

“Yea? And what do you know about your soulmate?”

Caitlin bites her lip, thinking for a moment. “They’re dramatic, but compassionate. They’re really in touch with their emotions. But they get upset a lot? I don’t know if they pick songs based on what they want to tell me. I guess I never thought of it like that.” She concedes with a shrug.

It’s unsettling, the idea of rearranging your entire life around the idea of a person. Caitlin knows her parents are soulmates, and they’re in love. She can still remember the first time they told her the story of how they met. (They were both working in Disney World; they picked one bad song after another to annoy each other with. Eventually, they literally ran into each other as a parade had them both singing “Under the Sea”.) Caitlin knows that once she finds them, it’s game over. She’ll never want anyone after them.

She’s a homebody, and this person is already a part of her. It scares the shit out of her. She’s barely eighteen, and is no rush to be tied down. She hasn’t seen half of everything that she wants to tell them about. All she can hope is that her soulmate isn’t completely terrible, and that they won’t come around for a very, very long time.

On the other side of the country, Derek’s getting high in his basement. His friends have been griping about soulmates for the last ten minutes or so.

“I hope for your sake she’s hot,” his friend Cameron complains. Their friend, Eden, slaps his chest slightly. “The fuck?”

“So, what if she isn’t? Who the fuck cares if his soulmate is a fucking ten in your book?”

Cameron rolls his eyes, “who cares about soulmates if they aren’t fuckable?”

“Shut up, man,” Nursey says with a little more heat than he intended. “It’s my soulmate, my problem.”

“I heard if you sing the same song, eventually your soulmate thinks you’re trying to tell them something,” Wyatt adds.

Derek ignores him, choosing to turn on the Falcs vs Bruins game. He thinks about what he knows his soulmate listens to most often. It’s some pop, and some country. It’s also punk, metal, and classical music. And then there are days where they listen to dad rock and alt rock. He seriously…has no idea where that leaves him. He thinks that he’ll have to start listening to the songs more closely. Maybe the songs in his head get louder because those are the ones they want him to hear. Maybe he’s missed a lot of signs and he’s letting them down. He’s eighteen and totally in love with someone he’s never met before. And maybe it’s not the conventional “let’s settle down and have a shit ton of kids” type of love, but there’s a person out there for him. There’s someone who’s unique, creative, and so well rounded.

Derek ponders for a few days after what it means to be someone’s soulmate. What it means to have someone linked to you in such an intimate way. He decides he wants to try to reach out to them, to be more attentive and understanding. Just because they haven’t met, doesn’t mean they can’t be together someway…somehow.

_/.\\_

Will doesn’t like to dwell on what he can’t control. Honestly, it’s a huge waste of time, and he knows better. His mother raised him to not be obsessive. It’s getting harder, though, as high school winds down not to think about the future. More specifically, he’s really fucking concerned that his soulmate has been predominantly singing one song for two weeks now. He knows that his soulmate likes rap and it’s been…interesting. He likes to think that it’s his soulmate reaching out, telling him not to be a dick. And it’s been a surreal experience realizing how white his town is and how possible it is that his soulmate isn’t. However, that doesn’t deter from the fact that once he figured out his soulmate was singing Childish Gambino—and once he looked up the lyrics for “Letter Home”—that he thinks this is a big fucking deal.

Will goes back and forth for a few days. He looks up shit about soulmates and cutting ties. When he finds out there’s no way to do so he regroups. He wonders why something so miniscule about what he knows about them would affect their dynamic so much?

But then again, it’s not that miniscule. Not when his small town has all of three gay people and the town only recently stopped isolating them. What’s Will supposed to do, never come home again? And how the fuck is he supposed to find one guy out of millions out there? He realizes the odds were just as bad when he thought his soulmate was a girl. He wonders if it’s ok to be in love with a guy and still think girls are pretty. He wonders when he fell in love with the idea of a person. Will’s not sure if this is what love is supposed to feel like, a warm rush in his chest every time a song floats his way.

He’s in the living room of his best friend’s house. It’s playing in his head, again. Somehow it feels different. Not like the other times when they just…existed next to each other. It’s as if his soulmate is begging him to listen. Matt comes back with two opened beers and the pizza they ordered. Will thinks if there’s anyone to talk about this…stuff with, it’s his best friend.

“Hey Matty,” he begins lowly.

Matt hums, plopping down next to him as they watch the Rangers play the Wild.

“D’you think your soulmate’s ever trying to tell you something?”

Matt stays silent, shoulders tense. They’re quiet for an eerily long time. Finally, the Wild score and Matt speaks up.

“I think she’s telling me to pick Georgia,” he admits.

“Yea?” Will says a bit excitedly. Because Matty’s been stressing over which school to pick and his family doesn’t want him to leave (but he _has to_ , he tells Will constantly).

“I keep getting songs about Georgia,” Matty scratches the label on his beer. “‘Ts like she needs me to go find her.”

“You think she’s our age?”

“Has to be,” he pursues his lips. “She listens to the same shit Annie does.”

“Wow,” Will sputters. “That’s great, you gotta go, Matty.”

Matty nods, “why’d you ask?”

Will gulps, eyes flickering to the scratched oak of Matt’s coffee table. “I think my soulmate’s trying to tell me something.”

Matty offers a supportive grin. “Yea? What it is?”

Dex takes a deep breath. It was now or never. “They’re…not a girl.”

“You sure?” Matty inquires slowly.

“Pretty fucking sure,” Will nods, averting his eyes.

The room is vibrating with anticipation. He tries to suppress his nerves. He can’t bolt out of the room just because he thinks Matt will hate him, or worse. Will flinches when he feels a hand pat his back. He looks over, Matt’s face is a calm recognition.

“You think you’re…not straight?”

“I don’t know,” Will mutters. “I still like girls.”

“So…platonic?” He raises his eyebrows, squinting awkwardly.

“No, Matty,” Dex insists quietly. “I can’t, I…I’m already gone for them.”

Matty nods understandingly, “as long as you’re happy.”

“Yea…I think I am.”

Will is still hesitant. He’s not sure if he’s ready to be…out, yet. It’s surreal for him to acknowledge that he’s not all straight. It’s even more perplexing when he ends up making out with Bobby Andrews at Ester’s party a week later. It’s great and exhilarating. It makes his heart thrum out of his chest with excitement and gut wrenching fear. He makes out with Angela Wang twenty minutes later for good measure. It’s just as good. It leaves Will with even more questions.

His dad died when he was six years old. It was a car accident just off the highway. A car hydroplaned, crushing the driver’s side of his father’s pick up. Will’s mother loved talking about her husband to her two sons. Dylan was nine at the time, so he didn’t have to rely on their mom’s stories to keep his memory alive. Lately, while Dex had contemplated his own soulmate, he’d notice something different about his mother. Rather, he noticed the way she sang as if she’d never lost her soulmate. It made him wonder.

“Hey Ma,” he pipes up one day over breakfast. It was only the two of them now that Dylan was in college.

“Yea baby?”

“Was Dad your soulmate?”

She sighs, running a hand through her curly blonde locks. She pauses, biting her lip and glancing at the ceiling. “No, he wasn’t, baby.”

“Why’d you marry him?”

She grips her coffee cup a little tighter, silent for a beat. “There isn’t an answer I could give you that would make you happy, Dexy.”

Will gulps, “tell me anyway.”

“I met my soulmate two years ago,” she clears her throat. “I couldn’t afford to go to college and next thing I knew, I was married to your father and Dylan was on the way.”

“What are they like?” Will reaches for her hand, holding it like a prayer.

“Beautiful, kind, and smart as a whip,” she admits with a fond smile on her face.

“Where’d you meet?”

“Augusta, they, uh, well _she,_ uh,” Ma clears he throat loudly.

“Oh,” Dex thinks out loud. Of course, they hadn’t gotten together sooner. Otherwise, he might not be around right now. “Ma, you love her right?”

“More than I ever thought possible,” she admits. A forlorn look overtakes her smile. “I’m sorry, baby. I still love your father. I really do.”

“No, it’s ok,” he assures her. “I get it.”

“Oh come here,” she side steps the island between them, embracing him in a tight hug. His head lays in her chest. He closes his eyes, winding his arms around her waist as he inhales the perfume that he and Dylan scrapped every penny to get for her birthday this year.

“Dexy,” she says after a long, comforting, lull.

“Yea Ma?” he mumbles into her chest.

“Why’d you ask?”

“I’m bi,” and it’s the first time he’s ever said it out loud. It feels like two tons of brick have been lifted off his chest.

Ma’s laugh is an April rain after years of drought, “that’s ok. I am too.”

“Can I meet her?” He asks carefully.

“Of course, baby,” Ma cards a hand through his messy locks, brushing away his worries. As if everything could be solved with a little love and communication.

Will thinks everything is going to be different now. He doesn’t have to worry about the day he meets his soulmate. He can be hopeful, excited, and whatever the fuck else teenagers are supposed to feel about love. It’s only a matter of time before they come crashing into his life. He can’t wait.

_/.\\_

Chris remembers how much Samwell meant to him: how Faber was where he learned to skate, and how happy he was with his parents out on the ice. He’s finally at Samwell. He knows he’s going here for sure. But he wanted to get a feel for the campus first, and meet his future teammates. He meets some of the guys, and he thinks they’ll be good friends someday.

He wonders if he’ll meet his soulmate in college. Lately it’s been confusing, however. They went on a kick for a while where they got soul searching and sentimental. He thinks that they might be graduating too. He’s learned to read their moods based on the music they sing. Although his tastes tend to be active and loud, he’s learned what they like. He keeps music to cheer them up or calm them down when needed.

 After seeing Samwell again, and totally falling in love with the campus, he decides to push the odds in their favor. He starts singing Augustana’s “Boston” at every opportunity. He sings it whenever there’s a free moment. He sings it through the summer, and even through a few attempts by them to drown him out (he pretends it doesn’t hurt his feelings, but he also understands that four months of one song is a lot). He switches to Transit’s “Young New England” until he arrives on campus. Chris secretly hopes that the two guys he talked to on the tour would be there. He doesn’t expect to feel the profound disappoint when he realizes that they aren’t. They didn’t pick Samwell. They weren’t coming.

The songs that come in the following year are divided at best. He starts getting a lot of Augustana’s other songs. Then, the music gets angry. Angry to the point that Chris can’t do anything but pick soothing shit and hope it helps them, wherever they are. As soon as it comes, the storm seemingly passes. He gets a lot of very peculiar indie music that seem good for kegsters. When he starts suggesting them to Ransom and Holster, the d-men soulmate pair on the team, enthusiastically give him reigns of the party mixes.

At some point, the pop music morphs. It’s no longer the teen pop that he used to hear all the time while driving his sister to lacrosse practice. It’s a lot of former Disney stars that warp the genre. He has to look up Bridget Mendler at one point because he’d honestly never heard of her before his soulmate started playing her all the time. When One Direction breaks up, there’s a bit of a nostalgic kick with the new songs that they release separately.

The pop and indie music keep blending until one day they don’t sound distinct anymore. Like Chris’ soulmate had matured in some new and fascinating way. He wishes every day that they were with him, but he understands. They have all their lives to meet. It’s ok if they take their time. He gets some offers to go pro early. He debates it for a while, but his team (mostly Jack and Bitty) encourage him to follow his heart. The Wild have a spot on their team for him, so he takes it.

_/.\\_

Caitlin chooses Samwell. She tells herself it’s because they’re offering her the best money. It’s not because her soulmate won’t stop singing about Boston (although she’s mildly flattered that they remember her favorite song from 2006). She’s on the women’s volleyball team. They start calling her Farmer. She thinks its weirdly appropriate considering how invested the sports team are on this small campus. She plays well throughout the season. Farmer misses winter screw because of food poisoning.

The songs in her head spring semester are dull and listless. She tries to throw some life and nostalgia back at her soulmate. It does little to improve their bad mood. Farmer decides to leave well enough alone. Suddenly, she’s a sophomore at the NCAA Division 1 finals. She goes out early because of one bad land (bad meaning bones snapping, bad meaning spending the rest of the semester and most of the next in a boot).

She tries to hang out with her volleyball friends come spring semester, but it’s hard when they’re already conditioning for next season while she’s waiting to play catch-up. Farmer has more friends than just them. She throws herself into classes and social life. She even joins an art club that won’t be hard to leave the next year. Caitlin can’t help but feel inexplicably lonely—like she’s the only person who gets where she is in life. It’s like something’s gone wrong. She knows something’s supposed to be different. She remembers that there’s someone always listening to her. Someone she could always talk to but never bothered to consider.

After a year of half-listening, Farmer starts really listening to her soulmate again. This time, she pays attention. She records every song in a journal. She categorizes the songs by genre, aesthetic, and lyrics. She writes down what lyrics float into her head and makes tally marks for every repeat. She learns to read her soulmate inside and out. She wants to know every part of them, because they’d always been there for her before.

 It’s heartbreaking. One minute they’re sad, the angry, and sometimes just…lost.

Farmer kicks herself for a day or two. She knew something was up. She’d known for a long time, and was too stubborn and proud to fix whatever was broken. Or so she told herself, until one of new friends, Larissa, stopped her.

“Look,” Larissa leveled her a sympathetic but curt gaze. “Soulmates are a two-way street. Just because they’re screaming at you to listen, doesn’t mean they’ll hear you out.”

Caitlin flinches as she feels a brush feather her back. She can’t figure out how she agreed to being painted on in exchange for advice.

“Ok but…” she begins to protest.

“But nothing,” Larissa snaps. “You need to take care of yourself, alright? Get better, love yourself enough to know when you should beat yourself up about shit.”

“Ok,” Farmer pouts.

She feels Lardo’s hand patting her head lightly. “It’ll get easier,” she promises. “Don’t rush into obsessing about someone you’ve never met. When it’s time, you can be there for them.”

Farmer nods, sighing. She still writes down every song. She knows one day, there’s going to be someone to help it grow. It’ll be the story of them, down to the very last note. 

_/.\\_

October 2016

Sometimes Derek wonders if going to Michigan was the right choice. He’s on the hockey team and they do pretty well for themselves. He regrets not choosing Samwell in some ways. Part of him hopes his soulmate was trying to tell him to go there. But he was on the campus and he kept…hopping. Hopping that he’d hear someone murmur Black Sabbath or the Dropkick Murphy’s or Cage the Elephant or even fucking Luke Bryan. He was hoping he’d catch something, a fraction of a second in their universe. Derek wanted to see them and just…know.

He got that one Paramore song they love during the campus tour with the small, blond forward. His eyes searched the crowd, his potential teammates, for five minutes. The music stops, and so does his heart. They aren’t here. Derek can’t find them at Samwell, and so he won’t be attending. He decided to go to the farthest school that’d accepted him. It wasn’t the most inspired decision he’s ever had. He doesn’t care. His soulmate won’t care if he takes a detour.

And if he’s perfectly honest with himself, he’s relieved he hasn’t met them yet. It was one thing realizing last year at a foam party that he’s not entirely straight. This year, he isn’t sure who he is. Fuck, Derek went down a rabbit hole at last year’s New York Pride. He met a lot of chill people. Next thing he knew, he was in Chelsea, hanging out with a nonbinary couple at their afterparty. He was telling them a bit about himself and they were sharing some stories. And some of the stuff they started saying about their varying experiences with gender made sense. Like too much sense. Like, he went home an reviewed his entire life up until that point.

He’s been trying to wrap his mind around it for months. It’s like some days he’s just another dude. He’s fine and he appreciates what he’s got. Then in another minute, or month, all he can feel is how he doesn’t want to be pinned in this box of masculinity. How he was treated as so much less for not being white growing up, that he wonders if he’s doubting his manliness or his ability to be loved is because of what people say or how he feels. Derek ignores the way his eyes linger a little too long on a long skirt hanging in a shop window, or the way his eyelashes flutter a little too nicely in his reflection. He finds himself modulating his voice when songs float around his head, trying to match the singer’s range. It turns out he has decent vocals when he tries.

Derek ignores how restless he feels when he’s back at school. He ignores how he starts to pay closer attention to the way his roommate’s girlfriend applies makeup. He writes off binge watching beauty gurus as “academic curiosity” instead of a secret thrill to see boys in makeup. When he gets a little braver, Nursey buys a skirt and crop top online (away from the prying eye of his team and classmates). Nothing fits him right. So he looks up how women’s measurements work. He gets carnations tattooed on his right shoulder. He tells his teammates it’s for his mother (he doesn’t mention he means his drag mother and he’s been going to a drag club for a few months; nor does he mention that turning himself into a garden makes him feel beautiful).

The damn finally breaks when he finds himself staring at a bra in target one day and thinking “is this really what I want?” The answer isn’t simple. It doesn’t come immediately after he talks with his drag mother (who is supportive but leaves him with even more questions about himself than he came in with). He finds himself listening to a lot of sad shit. He finds himself singing a little too harshly when his soulmate sings Gorjira. He finds out there’s such a thing as queercore and delves deep into it. He sings his frustration away. He doesn’t stop to think about his soulmate until their music overwhelmingly changes. It goes soft. They sing a lot of indie shit. Shit he used to love, stuff they had in common, and new shit he hadn’t bothered to look up.

One night when his dysphoria, at least that’s what the internet called it, was awful he felt himself murmuring something they’d sung for him a few years back. It was some song about not giving a fuck anymore.

“One more spoon of cough syrup,” he huffs.

Derek’s good at ignoring things. He’s great at not paying attention to how his breath hitches when he plays with pronouns, or how fucking happy his is when people just call him Nursey. It’s hard to ignore the way his soulmate spends an hour filling his head with all of their favorites. It feels like a love letter, the way their songs flow one after another. Each with a different tone, all the same promise of commitment and admiration. They want a soulmate, Nursey thinks wistfully. Not a body, but a person.

He goes to a trans support group on campus the next week. He talks for a bit about where he’s from and how he doesn’t know what he identifies as.

“I don’t think it’s that pronouns don’t matter to me,” Nursey explains. “It’s just, I like being referred to with multiple gender pronouns? It kinda depends on who I’m with plus where I’m at personally. And maybe it’s shitty, but I’m not ready to be out yet. I think I’m still figuring out who I am.”

Nursey debates whether genderqueer or demiguy would be a better term. They leave it alone for a while because it’s the middle of the season and they have enough shit to work through as it is. They go home for the summer. If their parents notice how their voice gets a little softer some days, or the way their wardrobe gets more colorful and less structured, they don’t mention it. Nursey tentatively brings up the subject of transferring schools (maybe going to Samwell like they’d originally planned). Their parents barely bat an eyelash, but give their approval. They help Nursey pulls some strings to go to there. They can’t be on the hockey team anymore (not with the number of credits they have to make up to graduate on time). But it works. Nursey has more support groups to move in and out of, there are more people at Samwell who get them.

And that’s where they are right now, at the world’s queerest stoplight party wearing a yellow pencil skirt and a denim button down. They’d decided against makeup because, as predicted, the party was hot as ever loving fuck. Nursey decided to take a breather out on this person’s terrace, away from the noise. They find someone sitting in an old lawn chair, sipping a Natty, facing away from the party.

“Oh sorry,” Nursey starts to back up, gesturing to the doorway.  “I can just…”

“No don’t worry,” the person looks him over closely. They tilt their head in the direction of the second lawn chair. “There’s plenty of room out here.”

“Thanks,” Nursey takes the seat. “So…do you come here often?”

The brunette snorts, eyeing them with playful disbelief. “Do you use that to pick up all the girls?”

Nursey shrugs, “no, just the cute ones.”

“Well,” she smiles with an impish grin, “lucky me.”

They sit in silence for a while, enjoying the evening breeze.

“I’m Caitlin by the way, but everyone calls me Farmer.” She quickly adds, “because it’s my last name.”

“Gotcha,” they nod, taking a deep breath. “I’m Derek but everyone calls me Nursey.”

“So Nursey…” Farmer leans over the arm of her, resting her head in her hands and looking at them like they’re the most interesting person ever, “what brings you out here to this fine balcony?”

Nursey chuckles, “there are too many fuckers in there wearing red, and I was getting hot.”

“That’s what happens when upperclassmen host a party,” she shakes her head despondently.  “Too many people are taken.”

Nursey shrugs.

“You’re new, right?”

“Yea, just transferred from Michigan.”

“Cool,” she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I was out most of last year on an injury. So I know people, but obviously…”

“Ouch,” Nursey winces sympathetically. “Yea, I feel you.”

“You wanna ditch this party?” She says after a moment.

“Like Netflix and Chill or—”

“I was thinking Take Out and Actual Chill but…I wouldn’t be opposed,” the smirk in her eyes makes Nursey want to follow her anywhere. There’s just something so…magnetic about her, they think.

They end up in Murder Stop N Shop, perusing the frozen foods section. Selena Gomez starts playing over the loud speaker.

“My soulmate would love this song,” Caitlin murmurs.

“Would love?” Nursey’s breath catches a little. That’s right, soulmates. Nursey wasn’t too keen to admit that they were wearing yellow because they in love with someone they’d never met.

“Yea…I think they had a rough year, y’know?” She looks back at Nursey, searching for empath. “They weren’t really acting like themselves.”

“Oh,” it’s just now that Nursey notices Caitlin’s yellow bandana. “So are you guys…exclusive?”

“I haven’t met them yet,” she confesses simply.

Nursey looks at her quizzically. “Then how do you know they had a rough year?”

“Because they found queercore music,” Farmer gestures around her head. “And I love them. But no one listens to ‘Confused and Proud’ five times a day for a month without having a rough year.”

Nursey gives her a concerned face.

“What?”

“…nothing,” they deflect.

They leave with frozen chicken nuggets and a discount DVD of _Love Actually_. Caitlin offers up her place just off campus. Caitlin tells Nursey to make themselves at home while she starts the nuggets. Nursey for their part is certainly confused, yet hopeful.

They have to try something. “There’s a place off ocean avenue. We were both sixteen,” Nursey murmurs.

They hear humming coming from the kitchen.  They keep going, standing up quietly. They peak into the kitchen, just as the song reverberates in their head. Caitlin’s bopping her head.

“Having a good time?”

“Hmmm?” She turns around, cheeks pink at being caught. “Oh yea, my soulmate hasn’t sung this shit in years. It’s nice.”

Nursey saunters closer, acting as confident as they can muster. “What’d they sing?”

“‘Ocean Avenue’, it’s great,” she rambles, “‘if I could find you now things would get better—’”

A chill goes down Nursey’s spine. This could be it. Suddenly, another song floats into their head.

_Where are you now? As I’m swimming through your stereo. I’m writing you a symphony of sound._

“I don’t know this,” Nursey thinks out loud.

“It’s Jack’s Mannequin,” Caitlin answers, then gasps. “You heard that.”

“Yea,” they step forward, now in front of Farmer.

“Was…was the first song you?”

Nursey nods dumbly, licking their lips. All at once, Caitlin’s in their arms. She’s kissing every inch of their face, and Nursey doesn’t want her to stop. She pulls back, looking pointedly at Nursey’s lips. Nursey nods enthusiastically, taking the initiative to lock their lips together.  Nursey’s kissed plenty of people in their day. This is new. Farmer is everything familiar yet mystifying. They feel like they’re crashing into a wave of questions. What did this mean? Why now? Would it have been sooner if they’d just accepted Samwell? But it was also gratifying and relieving in so many ways. This was their soulmate…or one of them anyway.

 “Hi,” Caitlin says breathlessly

Nursey laughs, “hi.”

“We’re soulmates,” she asserts.

“Yea,” their smile widens.

“We have another soulmate,” Farmer whispers.

“We do,” Nursey hums more sweetly than their favorite love song. This changes so much, but in a good way.  

“Fuck,” Caitlin buries her head in their shoulder. “We can take this slow ok? I want to be here. I want us to be together. I. Love. You.”

“I love you too,” and Nursey means it.

They fall wholly for each other. It’s this process of learning and understanding where their long understood musical tastes lie within the context of their real selves. Nursey learns that Farmer enjoys cheery music to counteract her bad moods and elevate her good ones. Farmer dances poorly, but often. She finds as much beauty in the little things as she does the opportunity to make bad jokes. She can easily carry Nursey, and doesn’t let them forget it. She’s tall for woman, but small enough to hold and be held by Nursey.

Nursey and Farmer, for the most part, make a good team. Caitlin’s loud, but knows when to reign it in. She’s attentive and pensive. She encourages Nursey to be themselves. For Nursey’s part, they’re empathetic and nurturing.  They’re fun and upbeat, but are learning to accept more of their negative emotions. Nursey knows how to communicate through actions—through reminding Caitlin to put herself first more often. They learn how to read Farmer like an encyclopedia of “everything you want is right here.” Well, almost everything, that is.

Together, they find themselves leaving traces of each other in their respective places. They compare musical tastes and learn new music together. They figure out how to communicate more precisely through music. They send intangible love letters to their soulmate, because they deserve the same love they give each other. Farmer and Nursey become a team. Their songs sew themselves together until they’re a new unit. Yes, they still have their own tastes and presences. But they see how much stronger they are together, and revel in it.

Farmer introduces Nursey to her teammate’s boyfriend, which ultimately turns into befriending the entire men’s hockey team. Which turns out to be a lot better than he was anticipating. Their captain is in a few of his classes, and he’s in one of Nursey’s queer orgs. Nursey ends up joining the team for their senior year. It’s surreal how much has changed for them in a few years. They feel like they were meant to be at Samwell. It would feel a whole lot better if their second soulmate was around, but its ok. There’s plenty of time to find them.

_/.\\_

February 2018

Dex wonders sometimes if he should’ve gone to Samwell. His soulmate wouldn’t stop singing Augustana their senior year. So he did what he thought made the most sense—he went to school in Augusta. He’s at a friend’s party. Dex tells himself it’s to find his soulmate. Really, it’s just another excuse to get wasted as he ignores the dull ache in his chest. He got out of his town; he should be happy. Instead, he’s lamenting over someone that he misses more with each passing day.

He misses a voice he’s never heard and a smile he can only hope to imagine accurately. Dex misses how soft their hands must be; how amazing perceptive and skilled they are, judging from how perfectly they choose songs now. They threw all this working into loving him. Dex misses how easy it was to day dream about an idea of a person. How simple it was to write off infatuation when he could argue unfamiliarity. Not anymore, though. Now, he feels like they’ve materialized in front of him, ripped his heart out of his chest, and ran away with it.

“Where are you now,” he sings under his breath, taking a large swig of his bud light.

Go to Augusta, he snorts at his own stupidity. You’d think after four years of going out at every opportunity, he’d have found them by now.

“I think I’m going to Boston,” he mumbles mournfully, remembering the song that started the Augustana obsession. It takes him a moment, but the epiphany clicks into place. His spine goes rigid as his stomach bottoms out.

“Boston,” he reiterates to only himself. “Fuck, Boston. Not Augusta.”

“You’re a real fucking idiot, Dex,” he chastises himself. He chugs the rest of his beer. Tomorrow he’ll look for jobs further south. Maybe he’ll find them…someday.

_/.\\_

November 2018

Soft notes rouse Nursey from their sleep.

 _I'm up at Brooklyn, now I'm down in Tribeca_ _. Right next to DeNiro…_

“Cait, stop,” Nursey groans.

Footsteps approach their bedroom. The upside of having wealthy parents is that they’re willing to rent you their apartment in the Village for next to nothing. The downside is when you realize they mean a fourth-floor walkup that they expect you to renovate while you’re there. Nursey figures the brick walls are trendy enough that it’s mostly the floor and kitchen that need updating. The other down side is that sound carries easily. The music builds.

 _Cruising down 8th Street, off-white Lexus_ _. Driving so slow, but B.K. is from Texas._

“Cait, knock it off,” they call out louder this time.

“It’s not me,” she insists somewhat tersely. Farmer leans against the doorframe. Her go-to running outfit—athletic leggings and Nursey’s worn out Samwell sweatshirt—is mildly damp from the rain pouring outside.

Nursey pries an eye open. They scrutinize her carefully.

“You weren’t singing,” they repeat.

“That’s what I’m telling you,” she stands firm.

“The music got louder…and you weren’t singing,” Nursey punctuates each word, looking Farmer very seriously in the eye.

Nursey and Farmer had learned over time that louder music indicated more than one of them were singing.

“Shit,” Caitlin bites on her index fingernail.

“No, babe, don’t. C’mere,” they hold their arms open.

She nods dutifully, kicking her shoes off before falling onto their bed. She rolls toward them, laying her head on their chest.

“C’mere,” Nursey reiterates.

“I am here,” she chirps.

“Not enough,” they pout.

Farmer giggles, “if I must.” She sits up, swinging a leg over their torso. She looks down at Nursey and raises her brows expectantly.

“You’re too far away,” Nursey complains.

She leans down, brushing her lips against Nursey’s temple. “How’s this?”

“Better,” they smile softly.

“They’re in New York,” Farmer reminds them.

“Our soulmates are in New York,” Nursey parrots.

“So who likes metal?”

“Probably the same person who likes dad rock,” they contend.

“And the other one loves punk and alt?”

“Chyeah,” Nursey snorts.

“I don’t know…” Farmer sings in a lofty tone. “You could be wrong.”

“You wanna sweeten the deal?”

Farmer hums contemplatively. She admires their curly locks. “Maybe…you should grow your hair out.”

“You think?”

“Definitely,” Caitlin smiles encouragingly. “Your hair is already so pretty. Think about how great it would look longer.”

“Do you…” Nursey takes a deep breath. “Do you think…”

“No,” Farmer states firmly, but lovingly. “I think they’ll love you just the way you are…Just, like I do.”

“God, I love you,” they murmur, gripping her waist tighter.

“Does that love transfer to making coffee?”

“I think it does,” they smirk.

_/.\\_

Chowder knows what he’s doing is a big risk. It was hard to get his agent to agree to help him negotiate a trade. It was exceedingly difficult to explain why he wanted to leave without bringing up his soulmate. What it came down to was a flurry of half-truths about his current state of mind.

He’s been in Minnesota for two years. It’s been some of the best years of his life, by far. He’s one of the NHL’s best goalies. He knows that, his managers know that. They don’t let him go without putting up a fight. In the end, he’s worth a few players and a conditional fourth round pick for next year’s draft. Chris could honestly care less.

Maybe finding his soulmate wasn’t the only reason he went pro early. But it was a major deciding factor. Now he’s 22 going on 23 with little more than a conference win and a few hookups on roadies to show for it. He threw himself so much into hockey this past season that his parents insisted they hardly recognized him. Chris doesn’t believe them until one day when he’s watching a tape with one of the A’s and realizes that’s the most he’s relaxed all season.

He isn’t happy with his life. There’s unexpected detours that lead to new paths, and then there’s waking up from a personal haze to find that everything you cared about was a thousand miles away. His friends (his family) were on the East Coast. They tried to keep him updated, and they skyped when their schedules allowed. It wasn’t the same. He can’t help the feeling of grief when he realizes he missed Bitty’s graduation, or when Ransom and Holster tell him they’re getting married. He missing so much. He can’t keep putting his life on hold when his career isn’t going anywhere.

Chris has never been one to let something take over his life as much as hockey has recently. He needs a breather, a chance to step back. He gets traded to the Islanders, hoping it’s only temporary. Maybe he’ll find his soulmate now. Maybe they tried to get to Boston and never quite got there. He tries to not get his hopes up when he starts hearing New York themed music all the time.

The same music gets a little louder a month later when he’s finished moving his belongings to Long Island. It stirs something in his soul that he hasn’t felt in a long time, hope. He lets go a little, allowing them to feel who he is more than where he’s found himself. All Chris can do is bide his time.

_/.\\_

Bitty’s down for the weekend from Providence. Jack’s on a roadie, but the rest of the team is gearing up to watch an old hockey pal play his debut game in New York. Since Nursey and Farmer’s apartment is relatively large and in between Ransom/Holster’s and Lardo’s places, they offer the space up for a viewing party.

“Why are we watching here and not in the SMAF section again?” Holster complains

“You mean other than we’re neither his soulmates nor his family?” Ransom quirks a brow.

“You know what I mean,” Holster protests.

“Boys, honestly,” Bitty chides. “Chowder was nervous enough without us coming down. I told him we can root for him from here, and he’ll join us afterward.”

“Chow’s got some serious game,” Nursey mumbles as the camera focuses on Chowder’s warm up drills.

“He better with that six-figure salary,” Farmer chirps.

“You mean because you already bought his jersey,” Nursey counters.

“Yea,” Farmer huffs, “that too.”

“Guys, relax,” Holster insists. “Clam Chowder’s gonna get them a shutout, just watch.”

What they watch is the Oilers barrage him with attempt after attempt. The first period ends, and Chowder skates off looking exhausted. The sound of a song from a band one of their soulmates likes is barely audible through the surround sound system.

“Heaven is what you make it. Hell is what you’re putting me through,” Caitlin says under her breath.

“Out there waiting unknown, I get the feeling you’re not alone,” Nursey adds.

_And now I know the story before you tell me._

“You heard that, right?” Farmer murmurs

“Yep,” Nursey assures her.

She nudges their shoulder a little to firmly.

“It could be someone in the stands,” Nursey plays it off as nothing.

“Or it could be the guy who just got traded,” Farmer argues, hardly believing her own words.

The intermission report consists of some of the slowest minutes of their lives. They watch the teams skate back out. They watch the Oilers out skate the Islanders and Chowder manage as best he can. The commentators notice as well. There’s a line change, and defense is bolstered. It doesn’t deter the quiet dread Nursey and Farmer feel as they clasp each other’s hands too tight.

“I think I remember him,” Nursey discloses.

Farmer stares at them worriedly. “Who?”

“Him, Chowder,” Nursey clarifies. “He was on that prospective student thing. He was nice.”

“I’m glad you think so, hun,” Bitty pipes up, “he was upset when y’all didn’t choose Samwell.”

Nursey gawks at him. “Really?”

“Yea, you and…this boy who I can’t really remember,” Eric bites his lip, frowning.

“He was ginger,” Lardo offers. “Defense too, I think.”

Caitlin squeeze’s Nursey’s right hand a little tighter.

“The pregame music,” they mutter to her.

“Definitely pregame music,” Caitlin agrees.

“Fuck, fuck,” Nursey curses, rubbing their temple. “Do you think?”

“I don’t know,” she snaps.

“Sum 41,” Nursey begins to sort through all the music they can remember off the top of their head.

Farmer shakes her head, “wasn’t me.”

“Fall Out Boy?”

“Sometimes,” she says through her teeth. “But it always got louder.”

“Cool,” they hiss. Something’s better than nothing.

“You wanna…?”

“Totally,” they nod.

“Tonight, the foxes hunt the hounds,” Farmer starts a little loudly. “It’s all over now.”

“Before it has begun,” Nursey chimes in.

Holster, as well as everyone else in the room, blanches at them. “What’s going on?”

“We’ve already won,” they sing together.

They try not to get excited when it looks like Chowder’s standing straighter. And they keep singing through a power play. It gets a little louder after Edmonton sneaks a goal. They keep going for the rest of the period. During the intermission, a familiar “where are you now” creeps into their heads.

_It was you I was thinking of_

“You think it’s him?” Farmer grips their hand a little too tightly.

“Babe, either way I think this is huge,” Nurseys insists. “That song is a _question_.”

“Shit you’re right,” she’s biting her nail before Nursey takes her other hand reassuringly.

Farmer mumbles the lines of “Welcome to New York” under her breath. Nursey’s dumbfounded when “No Sleep Til Brooklyn” flickers in his mind.

“I don’t think that was him,” Farmer rasps.

“Shit, they’re both here.”

“C’mon,” Farmer gets up, offering Nursey a hand. “We need some air,” she informs the group, dragging Nursey into their bedroom.

“What if it isn’t him,” Nursey scrubs their face.

“What if it is,” Caitlin persists.

Nursey laughs a little too hard, “we could do a lot worse than NHL goalie.”

She snorts, “ditto.”

“What about the other one?”

“Let’s figure this out one step a time,” Caitlin takes a deep breath, reminding Nursey to do the same.

“Too bad neither of us play instruments, we could make a weirdly precise location song,” Nursey chirps.

“Nah,” she scrunches her nose. “There are too many songs like ‘8th Avenue in the Park’.”

“It’ll be more fun this way,” they agree. “We’re almost there.”

“So, so close,” she kisses their shoulder, unsure of who it’s supposed to comfort.

The game ends 2 to 0 in favor of Edmonton. It’s disappointing but a good game nonetheless. “Where are you now?” comes back as “No Sleep Til Brooklyn” chimes in, Farmer looks to Nursey for direction. Nursey for their part, doesn’t know how to help. But they try anyway, adding “Home by Now” to the mix.

“That’s really weird,” Caitlin rubs her temple.

“Wanna try?” Nursey offers their hand.

She nods, adding “Thinking of You” to the mix.

“Harsh babe,” Nursey chirps.

The go in circles, and Nursey’s not sure if it helps until there’s a knock on their bedroom door.

“Hey, Chowder’s here,” Ransom announces.

Nursey and Farmer stare at each other. It was now or never. When they open the door, the warmth of the entire apartment floods their senses. The space is now filled with a gaggle of acquaintances and friends of friends that paid to see the game. Music is coursing throughout the apartment as the overwhelming stench of beer and sweat wafts.

Time slows, screeching to a halt.

They take each other by the hand, walking slowly toward the living room. There’s got to be at least thirty people at this party, but their eyes land on him immediately. Nursey remembers seeing him four years ago, at that tour. Farmer swears she caught a glimpse of him on campus. He’s hunched over the arm of their couch, despondent. The anticipation is a pulse that’s coursing through them. They approach cautiously. Neither Nursey nor Farmer bother to put up pretense as they sit on the coffee table in front of Chowder.

 “Are you ok?” Nursey nudges his knee gently.

Chowder nods slowly, “sorry, it’s been a long day. My head’s killing me.”

“Here, we got some ibuprofen in the kitchen,” Farmer offers, leaving before Chowder can respond.

“Good game by the way,” Nursey offer a fist bump.

“Thanks,” Chowder smiles shyly. “I’m Chowder by the way.”

“Nursey,” they add. Nursey bites their lip a little too hard before adding, “but we’ve met before, dude.”

Chowder looks up, face falling. Nursey tries not to feel slighted by his reaction.

“Shit, I do remember,” his words come out like a choke. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Nursey offers a tentative quirk of their lips.

“Here you go,” Caitlin drops two pills in his hand, holding a glass in her other hand.

Chowder nods appreciatively. “Thanks…”

“Farmer,” she answers softly.

“Cool,” Chris gets this dopey smile on his face when he realizes Caitlin also has a nickname. He throws back the pills, not bothering to take them with water. “Ugh, sorry. I’m probably the worst guest.”

“Dude, you’re literally fine,” Nursey assures him.

“Thanks,” Chris sighs. “My soulmate was really helpful during the game.”

“Yea?” Farmer and Nursey lean in closer to him.  

Chowder doesn’t seem confused by their joint askance. “Yea,” he nods. “Except after the game, ugh. That’s why my head’s killing me. It’s like they learned how to sing three songs at once.”

Nursey cringes as Farmer’s face lights up.

“Weird question,” Nursey stars off slowly, “have you ever thought that maybe it’s not one person singing three songs…”

“…but three people each singing one song,” Farmer finishes with a triumphant smirk.

“That would explain all the indie trash,” Chowder groans.

Farmer bursts out into laughter. Nursey scowls. “You’re one to talk Mr. ‘songs should be no shorter than fifteen minutes’.”

A flurry of emotions flash through Chowder’s face. Eventually, he’s left gaping like a fish.

“You,” he points to Nursey, “and you?”

“Yea.” “And someone else too!” Nursey and Farmer answer respectively.

Chowder scrubs his face, “I asked you, begged you to come to Boston.”

“Look,” Farmer interrupts, “Nursey had their own shit to sort through, and that’s perfectly fine. I did show up. Where were you?”

“I…left,” Chris hangs his head.

“I know,” Caitlin pats his hand. “You can be upset. But it’s in the past.”

Chowder nods, swallowing thickly, “hi.”

“Hi,” Farmer says shyly. “I’m Farmer, this is Nursey. Or as I like to call them, my better half.”

“More like fourth,” Nursey snorts.

“Hi,” Chris scoots closer to them both.

“Hi.” Nursey blushes, “look I know I’m not what you expected—”

“Well yea,” Chowder admits. “You’re way better than I expected. You’re really gorgeous, you know that?”

“I’ve been told,” Nursey deflects.

Chris leans in closer, “‘my mama says I should write you letters’.”

Nursey’s breath hitches, “‘but I think you’re with other dudes’.”

“I really want to kiss you,” Chowder confesses.

“Ok,” Nursey agrees.

But Nursey hesitates the slightest bit. Chowder decides to be brave for them both. He leans in, capturing their lips harshly. Nursey melts into him, tangling their arms around Chowder’s neck. Nursey feels the energy and excitement coursing through his lips. They sigh. Memories flood through Nursey; every fast-paced ballad comes lapping up to meet them. Their story is an ocean of what ifs and maybes, of has been and could be. They already know this person. This is the guy who wouldn’t let Nursey give up on theirself.

Chowder, for his part, is a jumble of ecstatic nerves. He wanted the Nursey he met years ago, but this person was so much better—all self-assured and kind. This is the person with the non-abrasive musical taste. The one who prefers slow beats and a drum machine to real rock. Who thinks video games, movie clips, and sound bites make great hooks. They sing before they act and always act with foolish ambition. Everything they touch turns to gold; Chowder can tell by the tingling of his lips. That’s ok, Chris thinks to himself. He doesn’t quite get them. But he has a lifetime to figure this person out, to love every inch of their body and soul.

Nursey and Chowder break apart. They both have half-formed grins on their faces, staring into each other’s souls.

“Hi,” Chowder reiterates, thinking _you are so amazing, do you know that?_

“Hi,” Nursey chuckles, _this was worth the wait_.

Chris turned to Caitlin, poorly masking his hesitancy and excitement. Farmer rolls her eyes playfully, pecking the side of Chowder’s lips to garner his full attention. It works, causing him turn his head fully toward her, hands still around Nursey’s waist. His lips are different than Nursey’s. They’re thinner, but softer. She remembers being young and fantasizing about some knight in shining armor sweeping her off her feet. She doesn’t know if hockey pads count as armor, or even if she still wants to be swept off her feet. But Chowder invokes these feelings of protection and devotion in her. Like hot lava spilling over, enveloping everything in its path.

Caitlin feels like patching up a hole in a heart Chowder didn’t know existed. Farmer is the shameless whisper of pop and country that reminded him it was ok to love. It’s ok to follow the crowd, or not, if you’re true to yourself. She’s the calm whisper of adoration when he couldn’t remember the last time he’d bothered to think of himself. She’s the midafternoon breeze that reminds him of home. _Huh, I wonder if she’s from California too,_ he ponders.

The three of them spend the rest of the night on the couch together: knees knocking, hand clasping, and whispers flying between them. “No Sleep Til Brooklyn” drifted in between a few round of “The Mixed Tape”. Nursey and Farmer held Chowder close. The weight of finding their last soulmate hung over their heads. It would happen, soon even. They just knew it.

_/.\\_

February 2019

“You know who could find them,” Farmer sighs.

“Don’t say it,” Nursey protests.

It’s a Sunday afternoon. The unusually bright winter day shines through the window of their apartment. Chowder had cut his lease short and moved in with them over the holidays. It was fast, everyone had told them, but they didn’t care. They fit so well together. Farmer could keep up with his intense workout schedule and Nursey talked hockey whenever Chowder needed to vent. Farmer was a morning person that helped him stay accountable and Nursey was a night owl who was always a phone call away. Farmer was the world seen and unseen; she was everything that grounded and fortified him. Nursey was oceans, rivers, and streams; they had the depth to see more to life than meets the eye, and the simultaneously the shallow joy to take in every detail.

Slowly, they were building a life together. Chowder could imagine himself waking up next to them forever. It would be a lot easier, however, if they could find their soulmate.

 “I’m just saying—”

“We heard you, babe,” Chowder insists, “and I already told you, that’s against NHL policy.”

Farmer pouts indignantly. “But why?”

“Because we’re friends with losers who profess their love over national television,” Nursey points out with a scowl.

Caitlin groans, “you’d think they could’ve figured out there shit before it got to that point. They weren’t even searching for each other!”

Chowder laughs tensely, “tell that to Parse.”

“Oh don’t worry, we will have words,” Farmer points a finger vindictively, “words I tell you.”

“At least we know multiple soulmates aren’t as rare as we thought,” Nursey offers.

“True,” Chowder sighs.

_Where are you now? As we rearrange these songs again._

“It’s like they know we’re talking about them,” Nursey buries their face in their pillow.

“Well maybe you could pollenate over the golden gate,” Farmer hums half consciously.

“Wait, Cait,” Nursey reaches for her arm. “That’s genius.”

“It is?” Farmer stares at him perplexed. Her eyes narrow. She’s seemingly frozen in place until a dumbstruck look leaves her mouth agape. She covers her mouth to tamper her shrieks of pure excitement.  

“What is?” Chowder looks between them, silently begging for clarification. They knew each other so well and sometimes Chowder felt like the odd man out.

“You’re going on a roadie next week,” Nursey supplies.

“Which is going…” Farmer prompts with a rolling hand gesture.

“San Jose,” Chowder whimpers. His face splits into an earth-shattering grin, “you’re both geniuses.”

“Thanks, babe,” they each kiss one of his temples.

_/.\\_

Truth be told, Chris still thinks this plan is mildly…insane. He has to (truthfully) explain to his coach and managers why he needs to skip morning practice for this game. He’s also sick of hearing the same Train song on repeat, but hey, anything for love. He makes a mental note to induct them all into progressive rock when they get home.

Home, what a concept. The trade proved to be much better than he’d anticipated. Farmer and Nursey were his everything. They were the pieces of his heart that kept beating through Minnesota. They kept him going for so long. And maybe it was too early to talk about forever, but he wanted every moment they could spare him. They were both so awesome. Farmer has this tenacity and dry wit about her. She knows what she wants, and doesn’t feign pleasantries. She loves just as much, though. Her love is in the sparkle of her eyes and the compassion in her voice when someone really matters. Nursey is brimming with creativity and intelligence. They see the world in ways that Chowder can only hope to understand. They find the silver lining in so much while inspiring others. Their love is in the way they relax around loved ones; in the way they trust Chowder and Farmer enough to be vulnerable and expressive instead of just “chill.”

He trusts Nursey and Farmer with his life. He just hopes he’s not wasting his time showing up to the Golden Gate. Chowder sighs, the narrow strip of beach before the Golden Gate bridge. He isn’t sure why he thought this of all places would be good. He sings “Save Me, San Francisco” for what feels like the fortieth time when Jack’s Mannequin starts in his mind. There’s a fluttering in the pit of his stomach. Chris dares to try. He tries “Get to Me” and the other song grows more insistent, faster even. It doesn’t feel the same as when Nursey and Farmer (and this mystery person) are all cheering him on.

He grows sick of repeating the same song, deciding to parrot back his soulmate’s song. It only serves to increase his irritation over the next twenty minutes. He has to go soon. This is his last best chance to find them. Chowder doesn’t want to find them in two weeks or five years. He wants the four of them to be together, at long last.

Chowder groans, “where the fuck are you?”

“The faster we’re falling, we’re stopping and stalling,” he hears from behind him.

 _We’re running in circles again._ Adds a voice, no _voices_ , in his head.

“Just as things were looking up, you said it wasn’t good enough,” the voice gets closer.

Chowder dares to look over his shoulder. It’s the guy from the tour. It’s really him. Chowder’s scrambling to his feet.

_But still we’re trying one more time._

“Maybe we’re trying too hard,” Chowder sings softly. His voice almost gives out from the sheer shock. Out of all the songs he could’ve chosen, this is what stuck with him. Chowder’s favorite song, “when really, it’s closer than it is too far.”  

They’re inches away from each other. Chowder tilts his head to meet this guy’s gaze. His ambers eyes shine with a hope that overtakes the reserved frown gracing his lips. Chowders decides that just won’t do. They close the gap between them, lips forcibly crashing between them. _Fuck, he’s so strong and steady,_ Chowder notes. If Chowder’s the ever-loving sun, then this man (his soulmate) is the moon—subdued and practical, but shinning every bit as bright. This was his favorite voice growing up; this was the soulmate he swapped musical taste with until he could hardly tell who found what band. And of course, he loves their other soulmates, but this guy is the final piece. They’ve found each other…again.

 “You know we didn’t have to go all the way to fucking California to meet, right?” The redhead chirps.

Chowder shrugs, laughing, “well we were supposed to go college together. Dex, right?”

Dex nods, blushing, “yea, well I thought Augustana meant you wanted to meet Augusta.”

“Really?” Chris’s eyes bulge out of his head, “fuck, I feel bad now.”

“Don’t,” Dex puts a hand on his shoulder. The weight of it feels perfect. “I…we have more soulmates, don’t we?”

Chris laughs. “How’d you guess?”

“That would explain switching from Demi Lovato to Drake,” Dex scrunches his nose.

“No that’s just Nursey,” Chowder promises.

“Cool,” Dex wheezes, and something in his voice tells Chris that is really is. “So…”

“So…” Chowder parrots.

“Where’d you park? Don’t you have a game in like,” Dex flicks his wrist, checking his smartwatch, “two hours?”

“Shit,” Chowder groans. His coach was going to give him hell later. “You’re coming with me, right?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” he responds with a tight, but genuine, smile. “Hey Chris?”

“Yea?”

Dex clears his throat, taking a leap of faith. “Can you lay off the Pantera? Just a little bit?”

Chowder laughs, “we’ll see.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title - The Mixed Tape by Jack's Mannequin  
> S/O to In Too Deep by Sum 41. You can listen to the [entire playlist here.](https://open.spotify.com/user/palateens/playlist/5lsOu3djg06b9dfRcW3bwL)
> 
> If you wanna know how I came up with this idea it's simple really - I was writing a BittyHoltz fic while listening to Train's Get to Me and thought "wouldn't it be cool if polyfarms were soulmates that found each other with this song?" So there.
> 
> Didja like the little tidbits of everyone else I sprinkled throughout? I'm totally making this into a series. Obviously there's a Holsom fic, but I left the rest pretty ambiguous. I'd love to see what your guesses are for the other pairings/ships!
> 
> I'm rarepair, poly trash and accept prompts. [Come say hi on Tumblr.](http://abominableobriens.tumblr.com)


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